


Letter to Enj

by Dontcountonmetomakestuff



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Ireland, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 06:15:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4818209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dontcountonmetomakestuff/pseuds/Dontcountonmetomakestuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Enj finds a letter but not R he doesn't know where to look</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letter to Enj

“Enj,

I can’t go on like this anymore. 

For so long I have put you on a pedestal, above anything anyone else could do. You were my Apollo and I cast my eyes away from his faults as well. But you are flawed; you have hurt me in so many ways and failed to see every time. But you got what you wanted and I suppose that why you didn’t see. I don’t want to talk about what we’ve been though, it’s not worth the pain on both our parts to recount the good days and the bad days. 

And I don’t want to talk, when I know how much this will hurt you. I can’t watch that knowing I made you feel like that. I can’t let you see me like this either, no self-confidence but I’m working on it. I’m able to stand up for myself now. I know this relationship isn’t healthy for me, for us. I guess you don’t see that yet.

-R”

 

Enjolras stared at the scrawled words for several long moments, body rigid and still, aware of Combeferre’s eyes watching him. He seemed unable to cope anymore then as he drew in a long, loud gasp. His body trembled and shook as he struggled to draw in breath after breath, his face in a pained expression. Within moments Combeferre had pulled Enjolras into his arms, coaxing him to breathe for several minutes until Enjolras’ breathing returned to him still gasping occasionally. 

“Can you tell me what happened?” Combeferre asked, his voice quiet and concerned. Enjolras shook his head, tears welled in his eyes and he lost his hold on breathing again, returning to shuddering gasps that shook his body. Combeferre held Enjolras closer, making reassuring sounds as Enj made distressed sounds into his shirt, now wet where Enjolras rubbed his face into Combeferre. 

An hour had passed when Courfeyrac walked into the apartment. He looked around at the discarded bags of food on the counter and over at where Enjolras had fallen asleep on Combeferre. On the TV Mulan was fighting the Hun, and mugs of hot chocolate rested on the floor next to the ratty couch. Combeferre turned to look at Courfeyrac who glanced at Enj in concern. Combeferre shrugged helplessly to convey he didn’t know what was wrong with him, and nodded towards the crumpled paper on the table.

Courfeyrac picked it up and opened it, reading quickly. His pressed his hand to his mouth.

“Shit.”

Brows furrowed in concern, Combeferre stretched out his hand for the letter. Courf obliged and sat by Enjolras’ tucked up feet while Combeferre read. 

“Oh honey”, Courf sighed.

*

Grantaire left the note on the counter, along with their key to the apartment and left. They didn’t really know where they were going but now seemed like a good time. Enjolras was staying with Combeferre for the night and wouldn’t be back till at least noon. 

They street was empty, the rows of houses were dark, their inhabitants would not wake till at least six. A street lamp died as Grantaire walked under it. They pushed where they had been from their mind and focused instead on where they would go. Grantaire couldn’t stay in London; their only friends here were Les Amis and drunks. Neither of these groups appealed right now. 

Without much thought Grantaire had ended up in the airport, buying a RyanAir ticket and checking in their bag. They kept their phone turned off and boarded the flight when the time came. There was something very comforting at the Irish accents of the air hostess’. Grantaire was going home.

*

Enjolras spent weeks, then months, alternating between worrying about Grantaire and cursing them. He could never manage to hate Grantaire for long though, and Bahorel’s reassurances that R was safe and not drinking didn’t do much to ease Enjolras for he knew none of them had actually seen Grantaire these last months and only Joly, Bahorel and Musichetta knew where they were. 

He got on with things though, soldiered on. Enjolras threw himself into his work and Les Amis. In turn his friends made sure he was alright. No-one could bring them self to hate Grantaire but they all hated them for what they did and how they did it.

*

Grantaire found them self on a doorstep they hadn’t been at in years. They told them self they were fine, but when the door opened and they were ushered in for tea, Grantaire cried. And for the first time in months they let someone see the tears, and let their Mam hold them close. They drank their tea quietly, and their Mam nattered on about all the people Grantaire would absolutely not believe she saw in SuperValue. Ireland is small, and Cork is smaller and seeing as she met all these people all the time in SuperValue, Grantaire most definitely believed it. They let themselves zone out and listen to the comforting babble and letting out appropriate sounds of surprise at how old Mrs. Daly’s kids were now, and adoring sounds when shown pictures they already saw Facebook of their cousins son. 

It was good to be home.

It was good to sleep in their old bed, in their old room, in this old and creaky house. 

And so time passed for Grantaire, they went back to UCC for theatre and art studies, and fell back into old routines. They get up early and make their Mam a cup of tea, who would say thank you and that, “People will think you’re a man if you dress like that, it wouldn’t kill you to wear a skirt.” At this Grantaire would roll their eyes then run to catch the number two bus, not arguing because terms like “genderqueer” would go right their Mam’s head.

They saw Eponine most days, and she helped them move on, urged them to audition for The Tempest. Eponine was a saving grace in their grey life under grey Irish skies and she brought them back to life. In January she left for greener pastures, and moved to London where a friend was able to help her with her siblings.

* 

Grantaire had left in November, Christmas was hard for Les Amis, and January brought resolutions to move on. No one talked about Grantaire, it was too painful. New people came and left Les Amis, the most significant being a friend of Marius’ who lived with him now. She had a sharp tongue which wielded sharp wit, she reminded him of Grantaire sometimes. She kept her cards close to her chest and month had passed before he found out she had siblings. Her name was Éponine. 

A few months after her initial arrival she stopped into the Musain and announced to Marius that she was returning to Ireland for the weekend, she added in a proud tone that her best friend, Grantaire would be performing as Arial in The Tempest, she flourished a poster they’d sent her. Around the time she said, “Grantaire” the café descended into silence.

Enjolras paled, then strided towards Éponine after a moment’s hesitation. Marius and those close enough to see the once folded poster look up at Enjolras with a mixture of pain and hope. Enjolras snatched the paper from Éponine’s hand and stared down at it, stricken. 

“’Aire.”

*

“Zip me up, would you?” Floréal demanded. Grantaire laughed at her petulant tone and obliged, helping the slip of a girl into her slip of a dress and returning their attention to getting themself ready to go on. 

*

Enjolras expected more resistance from Les Amis but it had been months since any of them had seen Grantaire and they were all prepared to jump on a cheap flight as quickly as possible. Enjolras also hadn’t expected how green the Ireland or how insane Cork city was, none of the routes within the city made sense no matter how easily Éponine navigated them. Enjolras felt as though he was in trance, now he knew where R was it was so simple to get to them. A few hours ago he was in London and now he squished onto a few small couches with his friends in the reception of Cork Arts Theatre. The doors opened and they squished in, Éponine swapped seats until all Les Amis were seated to together at the back of a theatre that couldn’t hold more than a hundred people. 

The room darkened at Enjolras let the sound of Shakespeare preformed with Irish accents wash over him, completely in awe every time R graced the stage. 

 

*

Grantaire didn’t notice their friends in the audience until halfway through the performance. They didn’t falter but they did wonder how the fuck they knew. 

*

They all waited in the reception for an hour as Grantaire freaked out backstage. In this time Éponine was informed about how they all knew R and on of the performers, Floréal, confronted them over “why the hell” her friend was so upset. Upon seeing Éponine she dragged backstage to explain this. Enjolras took this time to also freak out and wonder why the fuck he thought this was a good idea, of course Grantaire wouldn’t want to see him of all people. After everything he’d done; he’d never paid Grantaire enough attention when they were together, he worked too much and was home late. 

When Grantaire finally emerged, dressed so familiarly, that old beanie perched in their curls, Enjolras couldn’t help but smile. Grantaire couldn’t help but smile back.


End file.
